


Is That All You Got?

by anna_sun



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Flirting, Late at Night, M/M, Oversharing, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Sex Talk, Silver talks about getting his dick wet, so Flint gets all hot and bothered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_sun/pseuds/anna_sun
Summary: Along with the ship on the gentle waves, the rum in their shared bottle slowly tilts to one side, then the other, before Flint sighs."No, John. I wouldn’t fuck anyone on this crew, you perverted idiot."//AKA they get drunk and overshare, because what kind of friends wouldn't?





	Is That All You Got?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have anything to say for myself, except maybe that Black Sails is yet another show to have completely taken over my heart, and when that happens... I usually find myself writing something porny. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"You did _not_ just ask me this," Flint’s eyes go wide. "How drunk exactly are you?"

Silver laughs, almost whole-heartedly.

"Don’t you try and make this about me!" He exclaims. "I’ll simply repeat – _would you_?"

Along with the ship on the gentle waves, the rum in their shared bottle slowly tilts to one side, then the other, before Flint sighs.

"No, John. I wouldn’t fuck anyone on this crew, you perverted idiot."

He takes hold of the bottle after he says so, and Silver smiles. He can distinctly hear some of the skeleton crew over their heads, footsteps here and there, managing the ship in the dead of night. Things have stayed remotely calm for over half of the evening, now, which is why Flint didn’t feel any remorse about inviting his quartermaster down to his cabin for a drink.

He seemed to regret it, now.

"Why not?" Silver pushes, determined to know more. Their conversation had previously all been in good fun – or at least that’s how Silver intended it to be – but he doesn’t miss the way his captain seems to sit smaller in his chair, now. How he fondles with the many rings on his fingers, and how his expression shifts to the one he might bear in front of an enemy.

"Stop it," he orders. "This was never a matter up for discussion. I won’t allow it."

Silver knew, that Flint wanted desperately to sweep the whole issue under the rug. That he never expected him to have the guts to bring it up again, or if so, never in such a crude manner. That when he’d shared such a secret part of himself to him that sacred night, he’d thought it was only to be done once, and over with it.

But frankly, Silver didn’t really give two shits what James thought, or preferred. He wanted to _know_.

"I don’t understand why you find it so shameful, enjoying the company men," John says after a while of silence, and Flint’s irritated brow slowly soothes itself. "Look at Max – it’s no secret that her and Eleanor used to fuck all the time. They were never fucking killed for it."

Flint blinks.

"You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about," he says. "I? Was exiled for it. Thomas… Thomas _was_ killed for it."

"But your reality is different, now," John says as he pours more rum into his glass, then into Flint’s. "Nassau doesn’t care whom you take to your own bed. It’s the fucking beauty of that place."

Flint scoffs and takes the bottle back to drink directly from it.

"You’re saying the notorious Captain Flint could just start engaging in same-sex relationships and the Island would somehow not give a shit about it?" He sounds disbelieved. "We might have freed our bodies from England’s grip once, John, but believe me, pirates aren’t as open-minded as you’d like to think. Most of their minds are still stuck across an ocean."

"You’re wrong," Silver simply says to that, and Flint blinks again.

"How the fuck would you know?"

"Because as notorious as I might not be,"  Silver teases, "I _have_ engaged in homosexual relations in Nassau, and have yet to get stabbed during my sleep. Truly, even if that were to happen, most of these men have far better reasons to kill me than because of my sexual preferences. They have far better reasons to kill you, as well. Not to mention, what’s the point of being feared if you can’t do what the hell you wish to do?"

Flint looks as stunned as John looks pleased with himself, and he takes another chug, before he says, "It remains… wrong, and I still don’t believe I could get away with it as swiftly as you apparently have been."

"Maybe then it’s only your mind, Captain, still stuck across the ocean."

The mystery of Captain Flint was slowly revealing itself to Silver, now. John sometimes felt like trying to understand him could be compared to trying to recall an unknown melody on the piano, simply taking guesses at notes until he got it right, most of the time getting it wrong. There were many times where he’d given up, decided that maybe the tune wasn’t worth being played after all, and could have settled with only knowing Flint partly, with only knowing his shadow, and the tip of his nose. But those other times, rarer times like these, where he guessed something right, were the ones that truly mattered. The ones that kept him going.

The silence had fallen heavy upon them. For a second Silver thinks perhaps he has offended the man with his remark, but after closer inspection, he realizes Flint doesn’t wear the face of an offended man. No – his look is puzzled, not angry, and the way he stares at him is different. Something Silver had yet to see, and he’d seen him offended plenty of times before, enough to know this was something else entirely.

He’s also practically finished the whole bottle of rum on his own, and has a nice flush in his cheeks, his lips wet with spit. His gaze never once leaves the area where John sits, but never do their eyes meet. Flint won’t seem to allow it. Still, he looks rather… curious.  

"You’re dying to know, aren’t you?" Silver realizes out loud.

Flint’s head almost snaps from its own neck. He’d been staring at John’s collarbone.

"What?"

"You want to know," Silver repeats. "What exactly it is I did. Who I did it with."

Flint’s laughter sounds fake, and he probably knows it, what with the way he smothers it by taking another sip.

"Why in the hell would I want to know all that?"

"I don’t know," John isn’t reckless enough to take a guess this time. "But I could still tell you."

Flint doesn’t answer to this, and simply pours what remains of the rum into Silver’s drink.

It’s enough. Enough of an answer to have a smile tease at John’s lips, to have him rest his elbows on the desk in front of him, and to have the words start flowing.

"The first time, I was drunk. Desperate." He says, almost a whisper. "You know, when the alcohol has finally settled in your veins, and everything around you, everything you touch, feels too warm, too good. Like… like you’ve become some sort of animal, and not only that, but an animal in heat."

Silver half-expects the Captain to make a joke, then. To sway the conversation in another direction, to stop him in his tracks. But Flint says nothing, and simply listens; an open invitation to go on.

"I could have gone back to my chamber – I was staying at this hotel – and settled the hunger by fucking my own fist," he continues, and doesn’t miss the way Flint’s breath catches in his throat. "I certainly could have. But there at the bar, only a couple of stools next to mine, sat this gentleman. He was drunk on whiskey, and when his eyes caught mine…"

John’s smirk is devilish.

"One thing led to another. We briefly talked before I found myself in his suite. Then – well, shit." He pauses, and makes sure Flint’s eyes are on his when he says, "Let’s just say I never got my cock sucked so good."

Silver’s about to sit back in his chair, relish in the power of his story, when Flint surprises him.

"Is that all you got?" He asks, unimpressed, and Silver’s mouth opens agape.

He nevertheless accepts the challenge.

" _This_ was more recently. Actually – after I met you, my first time in Nassau. I didn’t know then, but…" Silver knows this is going to be one hell of a punchline. "He was one of Vane’s men."

"You’re shitting me!" Flint practically yells, delighted. "Who?"

"No one that matters," John admits. "Although he seemed rather close to Rackham. Anyways – we met on the beach, near his tent, I suppose. He told me I had pretty hair, and pretty lips."

Flint laughs.

"Was he mistaking you for a girl?"

Silver can’t supress the laughter that bubbles out of him either.

"What? No! He just – I was new, I guess he figured he had nothing to lose? Or maybe he thought he’d simply kill me if I caused him trouble."

"And did you?" Flint prompts. "Cause him trouble?"

"No," Silver smiles. "Quite the opposite, actually. I let him fuck my arse."

Flint doesn’t mirror the smile. His lips instead form a thin line, as his Adam’s apple bobs.

"Did you…" Flint starts, but the question dies in his throat.  

"Did I what?" Silver insists, rather enjoying this new, shy side of Flint.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Silver isn’t stupid. This thing they’ve been doing, this conversation alone, says it all by itself.

Still, he takes a giant fucking leap in the dark, when he answers, "I’m not too sure," and then, "I think, to be certain… I’d need to do it again."

The dynamic in their conversation shifts, then. Completely flips on its own axis – suddenly, Flint is standing up, resting his palms flat on the surface of his desk, raising his eyebrows at him. Silver can smell the rum on him, the sweat on his neck, and he can see an outline, between his legs, where his cock hangs heavy. His mouth practically waters at the sight, and he wonders how, exactly, they found their way here, and how badly it will end for the both of them. 

"Take your trousers off."

John finds that he also doesn’t really care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Sorry if it ends rather abruptly, I still hope you liked it!


End file.
